


My Favourite Big Brother

by VitaLupum



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Gen, Non-shipping, TW: Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VitaLupum/pseuds/VitaLupum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bård is a shitty drunk, and whilst Vegard is as equally shitty, at least he isn't puking. Fluffy big brother feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Favourite Big Brother

“I am so disappointed in you.”

Calle was cross-eyed, leaning against the bar, his head almost slumped against Vegard’s shoulder, and yet somehow he was disappointed in Vegard. It almost beggared belief, Vegard thought fuzzily.

“Where is your sense of adventure?” Calle added, firmly pressing his hand into Vegard’s chest. “I mean…” He stopped to hiccup, and Vegard took a hasty step back in case he was sick. “…you drink one little round of shots…” He stopped, and grabbed a shot glass from the bar. “And you… you… you…” He did the shot, and sat down suddenly. “So disappointed.”

Vegard grinned, and grabbed the other shot glass, before downing the rum inside. It made him feel a little queasy, but at least he and Calle had managed to head Bård off before he’d ordered tequila.

Speaking of Bård…

“Where’s Bård gone?” he slurred, and Calle shrugged, head now firmly down on the bar.

“The delightful little Solsikke has gone to the bathroom,” he hazarded, waving one hand about dangerously near the many, many empty shot-glasses. “Perhaps. Maybe. I ‘unno.”

“Thanks for the help,” Vegard muttered, and stood up. Great. Now he was going to have to actually try and walk somewhere. He checked the bathroom – no sign of the small annoying middle Ylvisåker sibling. The bar – definitely not there.

Maybe he was outside, smoking, he reasoned, and as he got out of the door he heard someone vomiting profusely, occasionally pausing only to swear. Ah yes. He knew that retching.

“Bård?” he called, and rounded the corner to find his brother leaning against a wall, hunched over. “You fucking idiot, why are you out here?”

“I…” Bård said weakly, and Vegard put his arm around him. Great. Time to stop having fun and start being a responsible big brother. Thanks a bunch, Bård. “Uh… I think I was sick on someone’s shoes.” Vegard rolled his eyes, and led him gently around the corner to sit down on a bench outside the club.

“Stay here, I’m gonna tell Calle we’re going home,” he said quietly, and Bård nodded, face distinctly somewhat greener than it should’ve been. Vegard managed to get inside, find Calle, and ended up dragging him outside. Literally dragging.

The bench was empty, as was the street – well, it was a very odd time in the morning – and Vegard glanced around before dropping the near-unconscious Calle onto it, growling in annoyance. He was beginning to sober up irritatingly quickly, and as he glanced around he heard a yell from around the corner. It sounded like Bård, and it sounded like he was in pain.

He sprinted around the corner, and sure enough – there was Bård, surrounded by three angry-looking, drunk-looking men. He was doubled-over, and – there was sick on one of the men’s shoes and trouser leg. Oh great.

“Hey!” Vegard yelled, and the three men turned to look at him.

“Piss off,” one of them grunted. “Unless you want to get punched.”

“Step the fuck away from my brother,” Vegard snapped, and the attitude of the men changed rapidly from passive disinterest to active aggression very quickly.

“Oh, he’s your brother, is he?” the guy who Bård had puked on said thoughtfully, and took a step towards Vegard. “Well, maybe we’re going to kick your face in as well. Just to teach you a lesson.”

Vegard suddenly felt his stomach flip as he was surrounded by the men, and as he squared up to them, he heard Bård give a whimper of pain as he slumped to the floor. Well. Wasn’t that a catalyst? Anger flooded his body suddenly, buoyed by the alcohol and a good amount of army training.

He went for the ring-leader first, the one with puke on his legs – more precisely, he went for the stomach, a short, sharp jab that left the man doubling over in pain. This left him an opening, and Vegard shoved his shoulder to spin him around before kicking him in the knee. The man gasped in pain, collapsing to the ground.

The second man had managed to put both of his fists up, a stellar use of his time, and Vegard elbowed him in the teeth – once, twice, and then a third final time to cement the fact that the man should fall over now.

The third guy, perhaps having drunk a little less than the others and thus being in a more sensible state of mind, was halfway down the road by the time that Vegard was done kicking the first man in the ribs, teeth gritted.

“Holy shit,” Bård gasped, and Vegard walked over calmly, pulling him up as gently as possible. “I… you…”

“Come on. We have to leave before one of these guys calls the police or something,” Vegard said urgently, and Bård leant his head against him as they stumbled back to where Calle lay, now snoring, on the bench. “If I get arrested, I’m blaming you!”

“You are my favourite big brother,” Bård grinned, as if he had more than one, and Vegard rolled his eyes.

“Next time, puke on someone smaller than you.”


End file.
